Night Terrors
by thatmultifandomfreak
Summary: They both have nightmares. They both help each other. Clintasha.
1. Fix You

'_When you try your best, but you don't succeed,'_

She couldn't have killed him. She was twelve years old, ju st a child, doing her best to do what they told her to. The man stood in front of her, her gun still uselessly trained on him. She started to lower it; until his face was blown off by another Red Room agent. "_Don't scream, Natalia,_" he ordered harshly. "_Plenty of time for that later..._"

'_When you get what you want, but not what you need,'_

The next time had been different. Still twelve years old, still too young to be doing what she was, but this time Natalia managed to complete her mission. The target was dead. The target... her grandfather. She didn't need more blood on her hands. But they wouldn't torture her today. Not today.

'_When you feel so tired, but you can't sleep,'_

Stark certainly knew how to make punching bags to withstand her. They lasted longer, that was for sure. Natasha's hands had been sore, bleeding, and she had kept going. She was exhausted but unable to sleep. Finally, it was her own blood on her hands.

'_Stuck in reverse.'_

Natalia's life had been going nowhere when he found her. She couldn't do anything different. It was just the same, all the time. Seduce them. Kill them. She was stuck, not going anywhere. No one knew that, of course. This was Natalia Romanova.

'_And the tears come streaming down your face,'_

The scream had been what had broken her. The woman, cowering on the floor in front of her, 15 year old Natalia Romanova, begging her in Russian to "_Stop, please, stop!_" A stifled sob escaped her lips, and to her horror, tears started to roll down her face.

'_When you lose something you can't replace.'_

He hadn't stopped. For god's sake, she was seventeen! But that didn't bother the man - old enough to be her grandfather - from doing it. Natalia never even got a chance to shoot him. He raped her and left.

'_When you love someone, but it goes to waste,'_

"Clint! Don't you dare die!" Natasha had growled, trying to staunch the blood pouring from his stomach. "Don't leave me, you bastard." He cried out in pain and tears started to slip down her cheeks. She loved him too much for this to happen. She wouldn't let him die.

'_Could it be worse?'_

Fifteen days. Natasha had spent fifteen days at the hospital, alternating between sobbing, threatening people, and sleeping with her heaad on Clint's hospital bed. The coma was powerful. They didn't know if he'd wake.

'_Lights will guide you home,_

_And ignite your bones...'_

She woke with a shriek. The radio was still playing softly, the soundtrack to the onslaught of horrible memories. Natasha sat up, shaking, the tears soaking her face and falling gently onto the bed. The man next to her stirred, sitting up as well. "Tash? What happened?" Natasha didn't move, didn't respond to Clint, and he knew what it was. "Oh, Nat," he whispered sadly, slipping his arms around her. She broke down into sobs, curling against him and weeping as if her heart was breaking. He rocked her gently, kissing the red hair. "It's alright, I've got you. _I've got you._"

'_And I will try to fix you.'_


	2. Is This The Real Life?

_Water dripped somewhere in the room, and Natasha could faintly hear it through the ringing in her ears. "Clint?" she murmured weakly, raising her head, only to hiss with pain and put it back down with a groan. Where was she? She couldn't remember anything. Not how she got there, nothing. It was like she'd just appeared there. Like a surreal dream._

Somewhere a radio was playing, and the calm music made its way into Natasha's subconscious.

"_**I will try... to fix you.**__" Natasha frowned at the music. Why was it playing? Obviously she'd been captured somehow. The details she had yet to work out. A man stepped into the room and she glanced up. "Who the hell are you?" she spat, then clapped a hand to her mouth as she realised she'd spoken in Russian. "Where's Barton?" The man didn't speak, but grinned wolfishly at her, moving towards her. That one grin made her narrow her eyes in recognition. "Father?" Natasha tried to move away from him, the pain in her ribs swelling into an agonising crescendo. A small whine escaped her lips and she inwardly cursed herself._

The redhead next to Clint whined, her body curling in on itself, and he stirred in his sleep, rolling over to face her. "Tash?" he mumbled sleepily, his eyes fluttering open slowly. Natasha was obviously deeply asleep, but something in her dreams wasn't right; which often happened. "Tash, wake up."

"_Tash, wake up." The voice came out of Ivan's throat, but it was unmistakably Clint's voice, and unmistakably in English. "Where's Clint?!" she screamed, struggling to her feet and facing him. "What have you done to him?"_

The whimpers got louder, and Clint bit his lip, sitting up and gently shaking Natasha. "Come on, my love. Wake up now."

_The room shook and both Natasha and Ivan staggered. "Come on, my love," the man whispered in Clint's voice. "Wake up now." Natasha flew at him, her nails ripping at the skin on his face, until he pulled a knife out and slammed her against the wall. She shrieked as he opened the first cut on her body..._

A full-blown scream ripped out of Natasha's throat, and Clint jumped. Not knowing what else to do, he slapped her, lightly at first, and then slightly harder. The redhead's eyes flew open and she scrambled away from Clint. "Where am I? Is this real?" Clint held his hands up in surrender, showing her he wasn't going to hurt her. "Yes, this is real. Come on, Nat, it's Clint." The song on the radio had changed.

"**Is this the real life?**"


End file.
